Wound and Light
by cellostargalactica
Summary: After 10 years apart, the Exile and the Disciple cross paths once again. It turns out finding one another was the easy part. From strangers, to master and apprentice, to care and beyond; A KOTOR2 love story.


**AN: This is an extensive rewrite of my very first fanfic, which I wrote sometime back in 2007. This is mostly an exercise in editing and re-imagining for m_e. A_lso I don't think there will ever be enough Disciple/Exile fanwork, so here's my contribution!**

**This was mostly inspired because I've always heard/read that the Disciple/Exile pairing lacks the spark of Bao-Dur or Atton, so my goal with this project is to prove that wrong, all while operating within the bounds of canon, however loosely (read; the characters have to be somewhat recognizable to their canon counterparts and any changes I make have to be within the realm of believability considering canon, etc). So, here I go! Feel free to leave me a review and let me know what I'm doing that's good or not so good. Thanks everyone.  
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_"Awaken."_

She is suspended by memories, a blank, murky place of flashing lights, pain folded over many times. Pain burrowed into the soft places between her flesh and bone. Pain, and perhaps even more relevant the absence of pain. The absence of feeling. She is suspended by the lack of herself.

_"Awaken."_

The voice breaks through the depths of her unconsciousness. She struggles. Each breath is a labor, an endless journey bringing from the brink of death and back. Her chest aches from the exertion, her ribs echoing her pain outward through the vacuum. She chokes, gasps, pounding her hands against the plasteel of the kolto tank, palms flat.

There is a sudden flash of light through her eyelids and the kolto began to shift around her, sucking, buffeting. It drains at her feet and as her head breaks the surface she coughs again, her body wracking in hacking gasps that spews kolto from her lungs. A door whooshes and she sprawls on the floor, cool metal pressing into her cheek.

It takes an indeterminate amount of time before she can open her eyes. The light of the medbay is garish and blinding at first but she adjusts. She adjusts as she always has. She feels as though she hasn't used her body and her eyes for years, as if she had slept the entire time.

It's part of the truth. Ten years' time in her waking sleep, prowling the Outer Rim.

_"Awaken." _

And she does.

Many thousands of light years away, a man kneels at the base of a blba tree on Dantooine, fingers pressing into the soil as if to sense the shadow of her handprint.

* * *

><p>Anet Tainer pressed a hand to her throbbing temple. She took a slow breath and urged herself to be calm, but not even the familiar thrum of the ship beneath her feet could calm her now. As a last resort, she reached tentatively into the Force, allowing it to fill her.<p>

It was nothing like before. Once, the Force had been alive in her, vital in her blood and bone, her thoughts. But now it sounded as if coming from a great distance, echoing over a deadened expanse. It felt vague and unnatural at first, the sensation registering rather like numbness or pain. But she had grown slowly more accustomed to the feel of it, almost as if she hadn't forgotten.

They were two hours out of Telos and still Atris's words rattled in her mind, dusty bones she'd thought she'd buried. It had been more than ten years since she'd faced Atris and the Council, and yet they were not old wounds. The accusation in Atris's voice had been just as heated as it had all those years ago, the sound of betrayal just as potent.

The memory of her lightsaber in Atris's hands had upset her more than she thought possible.

Anet shook her head against the thought. She was no Jedi, not anymore, but she could still adhere to what little of their code was of service. This memory was a sweeter one; the memory of Master Vandar chiding her as a child, reminding her to keep her thoughts in the present.

It was sage advice; there was more than enough in the present to occupy her. She had been saddled with an enigmatic old woman turned mentor, a cynical pilot, a utility droid, and an Iridonian tech from her past, not to mention the new threat of Sith who hounded her from the shadows, and all within the span of a few days.

"Exile," came a voice from the doorway. It was Kreia. "I require a word."

Anet held a shaking hand to her chest. "You startled me."

Kreia's lips twisted slightly. "You are easy to startle."

"Preoccupied, more like."

"Indeed. Come with me and we will calm your thoughts."

Anet took a breath, letting it out slowly through her nose. "All right." She stood gingerly and followed Kreia through the passages of the Ebon Hawk to her quarters where they sat crossed legged, facing each other. The old woman's expression was inscrutable as always, her blinded eyes staring ahead with unseeing and unnerving intensity.

"Breathe, Exile," Kreia reminded her, slightly chiding as she followed Anet's feelings through their Force bond. "Allow your thoughts to expand, your cares to dissipate. All that is, will be with or without your worrying."

And thought Anet was not certain she trusted the old woman yet, she obeyed. She allowed each breath to fill her and bear her feelings away until she was empty, hollowed by peace. They meditated in silence for a long time, focusing on little more than breathing, the gentle thrum of the Force that was becoming more natural, more familiar.

"How is the Force coming to you?" Kreia asked after a long while.

"Better, I think."

"Tell me."

Anet considered. "I'm able to move things with my mind again. Also small feats of strength and speed. I was able to mostly heal Atton in that old base we fought through."

Kreia nodded, smiled. "I'm relieved to hear the damage the Jedi Council did to you is not permanent."

"I still don't see how the Jedi could have done this to me," Anet argued, a frown creasing her brow.

"And how do you believe you had come to be severed from the Force?" Kreia asked impassively.

"I . . . I thought it had left me because of the war," Anet said, closing her eyes against the memory. "I did much that I'm not proud of."

"Your actions govern much, but not to that degree." Kreia's expression flickered. "No, this was done to you as punishment, only used for the most grave of transgressions."

"It seems extreme, even for them."

"Perhaps they thought you were something to be feared." The old woman's voice had become disturbingly pragmatic.

"Maybe," Anet allowed, not entirely convinced. There was nothing frightening about what she had been when she stood before the Council. She'd been little more than a husk, broken and betrayed, abandoned. She'd accepted her exile out of shame as much as obligation.

"I sense your doubt," Kreia said. "Do not allow any misguided sense of mercy to interfere with your pursuit of the truth and a solution. Or am I wrong in assuming you wish to regain your connection to the Force and see the Sith that hound you defeated?"

"No, you're not wrong."

"Good," Kreia said. She was silent for a moment, and Anet almost thought she saw a flicker of emotion cross the old woman's features. "You were dealt an injustice. I would hate to see you suffer it any longer."

"I- thank you, Kreia. I'm sorry. I will focus my attention on the matters at hand."

"Good," Kreia said again. "I suggest you direct the fool toward our first destination or we'll wander the void until death comes for us."

Anet nearly rolled her eyes at the bitter tone in Kreia's voice. She and Atton had nursed a nonsensical hatred for the other since the moment they met, a hatred that had only seemed to intensify after their departure from Telos. "He isn't a fool, Kreia," she chided.

"He is, and more besides. Watch that one. His thoughts are slippery and I do not trust his intentions, nor should you."

Anet pinched the bridge of her nose; a headache bloomed behind her temples once again, as if summoned by Kreia's bitterness alone. "All right, Kreia."

She made a hasty retreat. For all her pragmatic advice, Kreia became irrational whenever the subject of Atton came up. Their bickering made her feel like she had when slung between the interests of the Jedi and the Republic. They were two factions she respected, and she resented the feeling of having to choose one over the other. She hated being used as a piece to be positioned and maneuvered to the advantage of one.

She found Atton in the cockpit, his feet propped up on the console, sifting a worn deck of cards between his fingers. To her surprise, he was just as skittish as he'd been when she'd rescued him from the holding cells of the Telos academy, for he jumped at the sound of her advancing footsteps.

"Oh, it's just you," he said, plainly relieved.

"'Just me'? Who were you expecting?"

"Ah, no one. Forget about it. What can I do for you, gorgeous?" He leaned back into his chair, grinning in what she was sure he thought was a charming manner.

Anet sighed. "You can start by not calling me 'gorgeous'."

"I only speak the truth. Would you prefer 'beautiful'?"

"No."

"Princess?"

"Definitely no."

"Princess it is." Atton smirked. "What can I do for you, princess?"

Another twinge of pain pulsed through the edges of her skull and she closed her eyes against it, rubbing her temple. "Just plot a course for Dantooine."

"Your wish, my command." His long fingers tapped in the charge of course as he grinned at her again, and she suspected he attempted to charm her with his obedience.

"Thanks, Atton," she said, turning to leave.

"Hold up a minute, princess," he said, and he waved his deck of cards at her. "Play a game with me?"

"I don't have any credits."

"No problem; we'll play a practice game."

"Right. I'm not interested in a game that suddenly becomes Nar Shaddaa rules without my consent," she said, crossing her arms.

His grin became sly. "You sure, princess? I'd go easy on you."

"Ha. There's no way I'm falling for that."

"Falling for what?" he said, mock indignant. "I have the face and disposition of an innocent."

"If only that was true."

He snorted. "Come on, princess. Just one game. You look like you could use a distraction."

She didn't answer at first. He seemed earnest enough, and there was no denying he was handsome in a sly, rangy way, but there was also something about him that put her guard up. He reminded her quite a bit of the men she used to know on the Outer Rim; brash, cunning, smooth talking scoundrels who would charm the pants and credits off of you as soon as leave you.

"I'm sorry, Atton. Can I take a rain check?"

"Not so fast." He was out of his seat and blocking her path to the exit so quickly that she wondered for half a moment if he'd used the Force.

"What do you want?"

All traces of humor had left his expression and the concern in his eyes was strange, uncharacteristic. "Are you all right?"

She backed away slightly, unnerved by his proximity as well as her reaction to his concern. "Ah- I'm fine."

"You look tired, is all. Wincing like you got a bad headache."

She looked up at him. His hazel eyes were tender and serious, dirty brown hair falling across his brow, and abruptly she felt a wave of appreciation for him. Maybe there weren't any strings attached with Atton; maybe in him she'd found a friend who'd ask nothing of her. "Yeah, I'm tired. Thanks."

"No problem." He looked around his shoulder then back to her. "I bet it's the witch giving you trouble again, right?"

Ah- there it was. The expectation. The unspoken demand to choose a side, to validate one over the other. She shook her head and held up her hands, headache pulsing furiously through the drum of her skull. "Just tired," she said, edging around him and moving down the hall. He didn't call after her.

She took refuge in the empty medical bay, sliding down the length of the wall and closing her eyes. She struggled to meditate, to let her thoughts go into that pure expanse of the Force, but she could not. It was impossible to think. To plan. The Force now obfuscated where once it illuminated. She was surrounded by bickering, pleading, pushing, manipulating.

Anet knew what she must do. The Jedi must be found and the Sith defeated. But this sense of purpose gave her no reprieve from the chaos around her.

* * *

><p>It was a day for irregularities, Mical supposed. It was irregular that the Republic Armed Services HQ be as resigned and subdued as he found it today. It was irregular that the SIS provide him with a contact without a full dossier first, instructing that he only not be late. And it was highly irregular that the Admiral would request the presence of the Strategic Information Service, as the two branches tended to operate independent of the other. But Mical had shrugged off the summons, resignedly curious. These were strange times. Strange alliances could prove useful.<p>

"Can I help you?" the Admiral's aide asked, eying him warily.

"I'm the agent requested from the SIS," Mical explained. "I was told to arrive at this time?"

"Oh, yes," the aide fluttered, brushing the hair out of her eyes. "I'm sorry. You look nothing like an SIS, is all."

Mical smiled. "No need to apologize." He was aware of his benign appearance; it was one he cultivated carefully.

She half-laughed and leaned forward to the comm. "Admiral? The SIS is here."

"_Send him in," _came the gruff reply.

"The Admiral will see you now," the aide said and stood to let Mical in. He felt her gaze follow him through the doorway.

The Admiral did not look up as Mical stepped over the threshold of his office. He was hunched over his desk, fingers threaded through grey-streaked hair. His eyes were rimmed with shadow, the skin stretching tight over the bones of his face. This was Admiral Onasi, hero of the wars, veteran of both campaigns and former companion of the Sith-turned-Jedi Revan. Mical had always expected the man to be larger than life, equal to his reputation, but the Admiral only seemed tired, the survivor of one too many battles.

"Admiral Onasi," Mical said respectfully, bowing to give himself a moment to mask his reaction. "It is a pleasure."

"Right. And you're Agent Mical."

"Yes, sir."

"You've quite a reputation."

"Oh?"

The Admiral gave a wan smile. "Jedi apprentice turned wartime medic, veteran of both. Moved to the SIS with a presence in both the scientific and historical communities. Burning the bulb at all ends, eh?"

"I suppose you could say that, sir." Mical coughed, uncomfortable. "You needed the SIS for something?"

The Admiral took a quick breath through his nose, all business. "Yes. I've received an interesting message, one I thought the SIS would be interested in."

"And are you sure it would be news to the SIS?" Mical couldn't resist the question.

"Yeah, well. I've received word that a Jedi has been found on Telos."

This wasn't news. "We're aware of that, sir."

"Were you aware the Jedi in question is the Exile?"

Mical did not betray a reaction, though the news was indeed a surprise to him. "No, sir."

"I didn't think so." The Admiral almost sounded pleased. "We've been monitoring her movements since her return to Republic space two standard months ago. We managed to detain her onboard the Harbinger, but due to some unfortunate circumstances, she slipped through our grasp."

"What circumstances, sir?"

The Admiral frowned. "The Harbinger was attacked by Sith. An entire mining colony on Peragus wiped out as well."

"By her?"

"No. It seems as if the destruction of the colony was the result of internal sabotage. Regardless, we've decided to approach the Exile situation differently. The presence of the Sith has made this already precarious situation even more difficult, considering their unusual behavior." The Admiral fixed Mical with speculative gaze. "I assume you've been appraised on their presence?"

"Yes, Admiral."

"Very good. As I was saying, we've decided in light of recent events to approach the situation differently. More . . . cautiously. The involvement of the SIS was deemed necessary."

"Am I to bring her in myself, then?" Mical asked shortly, already calculating the measures necessary to subdue a Jedi. Despite the whispers and rumors that the Exile no longer was a Jedi, it would likely still be a challenge to deliver her to Republic Command.

"No, nothing like that. All we ask is that you observe her."

Mical paused. "Sir?"

"It isn't clear yet what the Exile's intentions are. She could be an asset to the Republic just as easily as she could be a threat. We ask that you observe her closely. Join her crew if possible. Perhaps influence her favorably toward the Republic. And, if she appears to be an irredeemable threat, eliminate her."

Mical was silent for a long moment. It was not as if he was directly opposed to killing in the pursuit or resolution of an objective. As an agent, he was required to put aside personal feelings when they interfered with his task. And yet, the prospect of having to kill the Exile filled him with an odd sense of loss, though the Exile was nothing more than a stranger to him.

Perhaps he pitied her. The famed Jedi General of the Mandalorian Wars had ultimately been punished for her sacrifice, stripped of her rank and exiled beyond the reaches of the Republic. But more likely, he supposed it was a feeling in kinship; they were both refugees of the failures of the Jedi.

"If you'll allow the question, why select me for this assignment?" Mical asked, frowning.

"Over your more qualified superiors, you mean?" The Admiral smiled now, an almost paternal expression, and leaned closer. "Rank and file doesn't mean much to me; only results. You alone have experience with the Jedi. You know their tendencies and philosophies better than most." He paused. "I need your expertise, because this is a mission we can't afford to fail."

The sudden note of desperation in the Admiral's voice was not lost on Mical. He wondered the reason for it; business, or a more personal motivation perhaps? He shook the question away; it was not relevant for now. "It will be done as you say, Admiral," Mical said at last, bowing.

* * *

><p>As the elevator bore Mical upward to his apartment, he leaned against the wall, closing his eyes. It had been a long, trying day. He'd thought he'd earned a bit of a reprieve after the Ord Mantell assignment, but it was not to be; this would be his first and only night home in the span of half a year.<p>

In fact, he now hesitated to call it a home; he wasn't here enough to justify the title. Datapads were haphazardly strewn over every inch of his desk, some even on the floor, and the sheets of his bed were rumpled. A fine layer of dust covered everything, giving Mical the distinct feeling of entering an exhibit, or a tomb.

He slumped at his desk, threading a hand through his hair. He'd been cursorily briefed on the Exile situation after leaving the Admiral's office; she'd been detained on Telos but had somehow found a way off Citadel Station. Sixteen standard hours later, a ship bearing the designation Ebon Hawk had taken off from the polar region, and as of now her whereabouts were unknown.

He briefly considered firing up the holonet and sifting through his contacts in a vague attempt to find a lead, but that could take days, weeks even, by which time any lead he'd found would have grown cold. He wasn't interested in a tiresome chase. He needed direction now.

Meditation wasn't a legitimate option; he knew that. If his colleagues learned of his methods they would laugh themselves stupid at Mical and his foolish hunches. But he could not deny that his instincts were unusually correct, and he had no illusions as to the cause. It wasn't dumb luck or coincidence; it was the Force.

He was Force Sensitive and had been trained as a Jedi for the first fifteen years of his life. It might have been ten years since he'd left the Order, but he hadn't forgotten everything. So with a slow sigh, he sank to his knees and allowed himself to reach into the Force, tentatively at first, the way one greets an old friend long forgotten.

It was difficult at first. His lack of practice was only part of the problem; he also had little knowledge of the Exile herself. He knew she had been a General in the Mandalorian wars. He knew she had accepted exile and wandered beyond the reaches of the Outer Rim. He knew nothing specific, for he'd never met her.

But the Exile's fate had moved him, both when he'd first heard of it and now, perhaps even more so than before. Her fate and sacrifice had reminded him of another Jedi, one that had been very close to his heart.

He'd studied alongside Anet Tainer at the Enclave before she left for the wars, and he'd never seen her again. He'd been struck at the time by her beauty and by another sense, a vague feeling that their paths would cross once again. He'd been wrong, of course; it was likely she had died in the war, for no one had ever heard from her again. But still his thoughts went to her from time to time, usually accompanied by the pain of regret and a longing that still embarrassed him.

He reached out with his senses, allowing his mind to quiet and his instincts to rule. The Force bent easily at his will and his breathing slowed, his heart quieted. He could almost hear it, the hollow echo that spread out through the galaxy, deadened and fierce. He could feel the shroud of loss hanging over each planet, each system, on the verge of whole scale collapse.

And in his meditation, he saw the ruined Enclave of Dantooine, a grove of blba trees bending in the wind. He felt inexplicably compelled, and though he knew it was ridiculous he did not question his feeling. There was little use in questioning the Force.

He stood and tossed a few essentials into his pack before switching off the lights and striding out of his apartment. He found he was no longer tired.


End file.
